


Unexpected Suggestions

by CoLaLu24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Consensual, Consensual light punishment, Daydreaming, Dom John Watson, John Isn't An Adrenaline Junkie Here, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Naughty Sherlock, Oral Sex, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, belt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoLaLu24/pseuds/CoLaLu24
Summary: "'Oh at least you definitely didn’t look unaffected by our hide and seek in the wardrobe a few hours ago. And your recent reproof made me think that…''Sherlock, no, just no!' John abruptly interrupted the younger man and raked his fingers through his hair.''No', John, there’s no need to say 'No'. No need to deny it,' Sherlock said, his voice suddenly soft and smooth like velvet."





	Unexpected Suggestions

**Author's Note:**

> Well, after I’d started to enjoy writing a little bit of BDSM,... I thought that I could finally put the idea for this oneshot into practice.   
> And I think I could also at least partially blame it on Martin’s role in "Startup" (which is a great series btw) that this story ended up like this. Before I've watched it, Martin had just been my cute little John ;)  
> Honestly, I don’t know whether the "plot" is that realistic, but well… what the heck ;)  
> As always, please note that English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes!
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy reading it!  
> Feedback is always welcome :)

 

 

"Sherlock… This definitely isn't a good idea," John said irritated and furrowed his brow. "I'm not an expert, but I guess that this is housebreaking."

 

"Oh John, if you don't close your terrace door before leaving, it's obviously your fault, if somebody enters your flat," the younger man said, sounding perfectly content with this explanation.

"Besides it's indisputable to check if one of our suspect's shoe soles has the characteristic pattern of the footprints on the crime scene. When I can prove this, it is undeniable that he is the murderer," Sherlock continued in a know-it-all manner and opened up the wardrobe on the opposite wall of their suspect's bed.

 

"Nevertheless we should have waited for Greg before entering," John pointed out and narrowed his eyes.

 

"I've texted Lestrade, that must be sufficient. The suspect left the flat approximately ten minutes ago. Oh please John, don't look like that, it's obvious," the brown-haired man said as soon as he saw John's raised eyebrows.

"The red light on the cooker indicates that it is still warm, so he left not long ago. Therefore it's highly improbable that he’ll be back within…"

 

"Shhh Sherlock, stop talking! I think I've heard something!" John suddenly interrupted him.

He raised his hand in a gesture that should indicate Sherlock that he'd better be quiet and tried to locate the source of the sound. He closed his eyes when he recognised the distinctive jangling sound of a key ring.

 

"Oh fortunately your deductions are _always_ right," John hissed through gritted teeth. "And what do we do _now_?"

 

But instead of an answer Sherlock grabbed John's sleeve and pulled them both inside the stuffed wardrobe. Carefully paying attention not to make any more noises than inevitable, Sherlock shut the doors behind them and enfolded them almost into complete darkness.

 

"Highly improbable that he would come back, huh?" John growled and leaned his head against the wooden wall of the wardrobe.

_"It's always the fault of the most brilliant man I know that we end up in such a situation,"_ he thought and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

 

"I don't know why he's already back," Sherlock whispered confused and John could hear the rustling of his coat, when he moved a hand through his curly hair.

 

Footsteps echoed through the flat, passing by the opened door to the bedroom in which they were currently trapped. But it sounded like the man went to his living room, as the sounds of his steps slowly subsided and a _ping_ indicated the turning-on of a laptop.

 

"Guess we just have to wait until he leaves," John sighed and pushed some hangers away from his face.

 

The wardrobe was so small that he could feel Sherlock’s breath ghosting over his face. A light and warm brush. Darkness was wrapped around their bodies like a thick and impermeable blanket and John’s thoughts slowly started to drift away.

Fantasies started to cross his mind. Fantasies he normally only had in the middle of a restless night after a solved case, when the fading remains of adrenaline still pumped low and suppressed through his veins, keeping him from falling asleep. In such nights his thoughts constantly circled around the recent precarious situation they had been in, just because of the stubbornness of a certain man.

 

 

-o-

_They are in a room in an abandoned warehouse. Sunlight floods through the metal-grilled windows and little dust particles swirl around in the air. They are forced to wait until Greg finds them, as he’s the only one who could ascertain their current location - But this could take hours._

_At first they both stride around the room, opening the windows, pulling on the metal bars. But the only opportunity to leave is through the locked door. When they realise that their efforts are useless and they can't do anything but wait, Sherlock leans against the cold wall and pouts his lips. He tilts his head back, strands of his brown curls hanging into his face._

_After a few minutes during which both of them were lost in thoughts, a mischievous smirk curls around the corners of Sherlock's mouth._

_"Why don’t we use the time we have until Lestrade appears here?" Sherlock suddenly says and slowly opens up the top button of his shirt. "It's my fault that we are trapped here. So don't you think it’s necessary to show me the consequences of my ignorance towards your warnings?" he purrs and lets the second button slide through the tiny buttonhole._

_The tip of Sherlock's tongue appears between his parted lips and he licks slowly, almost teasingly over his lower lip, not breaking the eye contact for one second._

 

 

-o-

 

 

"John! John! Did you even hear me?" Sherlock's muffled voice pulled him out of his daydream.

 

"What… Sherl…" John muttered under his breath, still not completely brought back to the here and now.

 

"Well, while you were stuck somewhere in the non-existent depths of your little brain, I am very sure that I heard our suspect leaving again."

 

"Ah… Yeah, that’s good," John murmured. His little "mental excursion" had left the same undeniable effect on him as the first time it had come across his mind. But this time it was absolutely unwelcome. He felt his cock straining half-hard against his jeans, unmistakably tenting the fabric - And his jacket was far too short to cover the obvious bulge.

 

The stayed silent for one more minute, John desperately trying to will his erection away, but when no more sounds could be heard, Sherlock carefully let the doors swing open and stepped out of the stuffy wardrobe. He straightened his back with a groan and corrected the collar of his coat.

 

Before he left their hiding spot as well, John awkwardly pulled his arms out of his sleeves and hung his jacket over his forearm, letting the fabric covering his lap. He felt Sherlock's eyes moving down his body as soon as he finally stood next to the younger man. They lingered on the jacket he held in front of his body like a shield.

"It was kinda hot inside," John said and shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to let his explanation sound casual.

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something in reply, but closed it again when a familiar voice could be heard.

"Sherlock? John?" Lestrade yelled and banged on the wooden front door. "Are you here? Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, we are," John replied, relieved that the awkward situation came to an end.

 

 

<> 

 

 

"Nothing has happened, John," Sherlock stated and corrected the slide under the lens of his microscope on the kitchen table.

 

"Yes, _fortunately_ nothing has happened," John sighed.

"But what if the man had opened the wardrobe and caught us? He could have done whatever, I don't even want to imagine it. Lestrade said that this guy was armed when they arrested him, for fuck's sake. Sometimes you should just - Listen - To - Other - People," John continued, each word clipped and precise.

 

Sherlock lifted his gaze from the microscope and his piercing eyes locked with John's.

"And I think that you are very eager to prove that to me, aren't you?"

Every muscle in John's body tensed and he swallowed hard. "Sherlock, I…"

 

"Oh at least you definitely didn't look completely unaffected by our hide and seek in the wardrobe a few hours ago. And your recent reproof made me think that..."

 

"Sherlock, no, just no!" John abruptly interrupted him and raked his fingers through his hair.

 

"' _No'_ , John, there's no need to say ' _No'_. No need to deny it," Sherlock said, his voice suddenly soft and smooth. "I would _really_ like to see which measures you have in mind for this," he smirked and pushed his chair back to walk around the table.

 

He leaned against the edge and slightly tilted his head back. His blue eyes shimmered through his dark lashes and bored right into John’s. Despite the distance between them, John could see that his blue coloured iris were almost completely swallowed by the darkness of Sherlock’s pupils..

"Oh John, don’t you want to share your fantasies with me?" he literally purred and the mere sound of this beg in his ears made John's dick twitch in excitement.

The black fabric of Sherlock's trousers tightened along his legs, strained over the bulge in his lap, when he shifted his hips on the table.

 

John eyed every of Sherlock's movements and absent-mindedly sucked his lower lip into his mouth, his teeth digging lightly into it.

"Everybody has _always_ to do what you want, Sherlock," he finally said, his own voice hoarse and rough. With a few steps he closed the remaining space between their bodies and placed his palm on Sherlock's chest. He felt his heart beating against the inside of his hand. _Throb. Throb. Throb._ Fast. Frantically. _Aroused_.

 

"But now I won't refuse to do what you want," John whispered.

"If you _really_ want it, Sherlock," he murmured and pressed his lips against the soft skin of Sherlock’s neck. The younger man bucked his hips, when John started to suck on the stripe of exposed skin above his collar. His teeth sunk deep into the soft flesh and covered the flawlessness with red marks.

Sherlock threw his head back and parted his lips. "God, yes," he managed to gasp, when the older man bit hard into his skin.

 

John inhaled sharply and felt blood rushing into his cock at the prospect that he could finally let his desires come true. He roughly closed his hand around Sherlock’s wrist and turned him around with one swift movement. Sherlock's head was directed to the middle of the table, his brown curls messily hanging into his forehead.

 

John reached around Sherlock's hips and slowly opened up the buttons of his purple shirt. Button after button slid through the tiny buttonholes until he tossed the expensive shirt onto the floor. Sherlock bent his back, his flawless skin stretching over his spine, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing with every movement and John almost couldn't tear his eyes away from the younger man.

 

"Gorgeous," he whispered and his fingers brushed over Sherlock's bare chest until he reached the waistband of Sherlock's trousers. His hand stilled over the front of the younger man's pants and he felt his hard cock straining against them, tenting the sleek fabric.

 

"But you'll look even more stunning after you received for what you've asked," John purred and Sherlock’s dick twitched against the older’s palm because of what he'd said. His words a promise and a threat equally.

 

John gave Sherlock's cock a hard squeeze, feeling blood pulsing hot against his fingertips, before he finally opened the button and zip of the younger man's pants to slide them down his legs. He trailed his fingers over the damp patch that covered the front of Sherlock's boxer briefs, the scent of his arousal suddenly heavy and musky in the air around them.

 

Sherlock reached backwards and hooked a few fingers into John's belt. He pulled on the leather and pushed John against his body. Leaning his head back, so that it rested on the older man's shoulder, he locked his eyes with him. His slightly opened mouth escaped short and shallow breaths that brushed lightly over John’s skin.

 

"Careful, Sherlock," John murmured into the other's ear.

 

"I can’t promise that," Sherlock sighed and his fingers started to fumble with John's belt buckle.

 

"I’m gonna ask you for one last time," John whispered. "Do you really want me to do this?"

 

"John," Sherlock growled and cleared his throat. "I want you to show me every thing you have in mind," he literally begged, the words like velvet and silk. They went right into John's cock, sharp like little electric shocks. Lust coiled hot and heavy through his whole body and he took a few steps backwards.

 

His eyes lingered on Sherlock's arse when he pulled his leathern belt trough the belt loops. He folded it in two and let it slide through his hand. It felt soft and smooth in his palms and he lightly brushed the belt over Sherlock's back, leaving a trail of goose bumps on his porcelain skin.

 

"'All', Sherlock, how could I refuse such a generous offer?" John purred and his fingers tightened around the belt in his hand. Sherlock changed the position of his hands on the table top to steady himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the sudden stinging pain when the leather relentlessly hit his arse, the thin fabric of his boxer shorts barely an impediment. It was as if the slap had gone right through his whole body. His fingernails dug into the surface of his table, leaving white moon shaped marks in the wood.

 

"I just can repeat myself: Careful, Sherlock," John teased him and pulled on his brown curls.

But the younger man just let out a low groan and even more blood seemed to pulse hot and fast through his cock. He felt lost in the pain. Lost in the overwhelming lust that flooded through his veins like electricity.

 

"Oh God, fuck," Sherlock groaned when the belt smacked down on his arse again.

 

"Language Sherlock. Such filthy words out of your mouth," John rebuked him and rubbed his hand over Sherlock’s burning skin, palming his arsecheeks through the fabric.

"A genius who is always right shouldn’t use such words, don’t you think so?" the blonde man asked and moved his thumbs in circles over the younger’s sensitive arse. But his fingers disappeared as fast as they had brushed over Sherlock’s back and instead another smack of the belt landed on Sherlock’s arse with a clashing sound.

"Don’t you think so?" the doctor asked sharply.

 

"Yes, John, yes," Sherlock gasped and shifted his hips to adjust himself to the pain.

 

"Good. Otherwise I'll have to take matters into my own hands and help you keeping such words out of your mouth," John replied and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Sherlock's shorts to pull them down until they joined his trousers on the floor.

 

It felt almost caressing when John's fingers brushed over the sore skin of his arse.

"Oh you should see yourself," the older man whispered and continued his soft touches. Sherlock almost allowed himself to wallow in the feeling, his tensed muscles slowly relaxing, but only seconds later the silence and comfort were roughly broken by the sound of the leathern belt whooshing through the air.

 

Sherlock's hips jerked forwards, seeking for friction, for _release_. Drops of precome leaked out of his cock, dripping on the table top and he desperately rubbed his length along the wood.

 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sherlock, so impatient. But don’t think that you’re allowed to come like this. Oh no," John murmured smoothly and pressed his own rock-hard cock against Sherlock's maltreated arse. He parted Sherlock reddened arsecheeks and brushed one finger over the puckered hole between them to show him what he had in mind.

 

"Unfortunately I don't think that we have any lube here in this room, right? But I think we can easily manage with something else instead, can’t we, Sherlock?" John asked and pressed his fingertips against Sherlock's closed mouth to show him what he had in mind.

"Suck," he growled low and without even the slightest bit of hesitation the younger man parted his lips and gained John's fingers access. He let his tongue circle around them, feeling the rough skin, the calloused marks. A thin stripe of saliva ran along his chin, leaving a wet line on his skin, as John’s hand steadily held him open.

 

"Oh you're so eager, I would want to shove my cock deep into your posh mouth. The mouth that escape so many know-all comments," John spoke his imagination out loud and pushed his fingertips against the back of Sherlock's throat. The younger man inhaled sharply, desperately fighting the reflex to gag.

 

"But not yet," John murmured and pulled his fingers out of Sherlock's mouth. They glistened slick in the light and he brushed them over the younger man’s arse, leaving wet lines on his reddened skin.

 

He encircled Sherlock's hole with his wet finger a few times, feeling the ring of muscles twitching under his touch, until he pushed the tip of his forefinger inside Sherlock’s hole. He steadily buried it deeper inside Sherlock’s body, feeling the younger man's insides tighten hot around it.

 

Sherlock involuntarily bucked his hips backwards, when John's finger slightly brushed over the bundle of nerves inside him. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt before and he desperately craved to feel the tingling that pulsed through his whole body, when John hit the sweet spot inside him, again and again.

 

The younger man inhaled deeply when a second and a third finger breached his hole. John pushed them in until they were all buried to the second knuckle before he spread them apart and circled them around, constantly widen Sherlock’s tight entrance. When John pulled his fingers out again, he watched with pure lust as the wrinkled hole was clamping down around nothing but emptiness, not being able to close completely anymore. He shoved his fingers back in again for one last time, aiming for the younger man’s prostate and Sherlock moaned at the feeling. He wiggled his hips, signalising the older man that he shouldn't let him wait any longer. And John definitely didn’t have such intentions.

 

Instead he opened up the button and zip of his jeans and slid them down. He pulled his cock out of his boxer shorts and spat on his palm to move his slick hand up and down his erection in a few loose strokes. The head of his dick lingered in front of Sherlock's back, right in front of his loosened hole and with one swift thrust he buried almost the complete length of his cock deep inside the younger man’s arse. Sherlock moaned and gasped at the sudden intrusion, but John’s mouth escaped equal sounds, when his cock was enveloped by the heat and tightness of Sherlock’s body.

 

He stayed like this for a few seconds, just indulging him in the feeling, until he started to steadily thrust his cock into Sherlock's hole. His whole length was buried inside his arse and it was breath-taking to see his cock disappearing between Sherlock's reddened arsecheeks, to see his hips pressing against the marks he had left on the younger man's body. He placed his palms on the sore skin in front of him and softly dug his nails into it, leaving white stripes on red.

 

Sherlock groaned aloud and it was a sound filled with pleasure. Low and guttural, filling every corner of the room.

"As much as _I_ want to hear you lose control, I think Ms Hudson wouldn't want to know what's happening inside here. So better try to be quiet or I _really_ have to assist you shutting your mouth," John whispered out of breath and started to relentlessly thrust into Sherlock.

 

The younger man tried his best to suppress his moans. His teeth were dug into his lower lip, trying to hinder any sound from escaping his mouth. But when John’s cock hit his prostate again, sparks of colours seemed to dance in front of his eyes and he moaned in undeniable pleasure.

 

"I've warned you," John stated harshly and slid his cock out of Sherlock's arse. He dug his fingers into Sherlock’s arm to yank him down to the floor, but only to roughly pull him up again. When Sherlock kneeled in front of John, his lips slightly parted, almost like an invitation, the older man shoved his dick inside his mouth. He closed his hands around both sides of Sherlock's head, twirling messy brown curls around his fingers, before he started to move backwards and forwards, his cock sliding in and out of the younger man’s mouth.

 

Sherlock escaped suppressed gasps and moans that seemed to resonate through John's whole body like a low buzz. When John pushed his erection inside the heat of Sherlock’s mouth again, the younger man lightly closed it and scraped his teeth along John’s cock, pressing the edges of them into the sensitive flesh.

 

The older man hissed aloud, but Sherlock only tilted his head and looked up through his lashes, his eyes glistening with mischief and provocation.

"Oh Sherlock," John growled and shifted his hand so that he could squeeze Sherlock’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. He increased the speed of his thrusts and dug his nails into Sherlock's scalp, grabbing a few strands of his dishevelled hair.

 

Sherlock gagged and sucked around John's cock and the edges of his vision started to blur. He could have removed John’s hands every time, nobody would have kept him from it, but he didn't want to. His own hands just lay on top of his thighs, his fingertips digging into the soft skin underneath them.

 

But in this moment every other sensation that pumped through him, felt so much more intense. So unbearably arousing. John's cock pounded against the back of his throat, his rough hands were closed around his head, his nails stinging on his scalp.

 

Sherlock's fingers closed around the base of his throbbing cock and he started to pump it in a fast and relentless rhythm. He squeezed his length between his fingers and after two more strokes he was hit by an overwhelming orgasm that rushed hot through his whole body, leaving him like a trembling mess. Spurts of come pulsed out of his cock, warm and sticky on his hand and stomach.

 

John removed his fingers from Sherlock’s nose as soon as the younger's body was shaken by his climax and Sherlock immediately took several deep breaths, filling his lungs with generous amounts of air. His pupils were blown wide, glistening dark and misty and John was sure that Sherlock hadn't experienced something like this before.

 

He steadied his grip around Sherlock's head and pushed into him in short, fast thrusts. Only moments later he felt his balls tighten and pulled his cock out of Sherlock's mouth just seconds before his orgasm washed over him. Thick guts of come spilled out of his dick and painted the floor and the dark table top with white patches.

 

He breathed heavily and looked down to Sherlock who still kneeled on the floor in front of him.

"Sherlock," he panted. "Look what a mess we've made here," he said and gestured to the mixed patches of his own come and the almost dried drops of Sherlock's precome that were spread all over the wooden surface.

He turned around and put his forefinger into one of the white spots, lazily circling it around, painting a thin line on the dark wood.

 

"But I have an idea what we could do," he murmured and wiped his finger over Sherlock's soft lips, smearing his own come over the fading marks Sherlock's teeth had left on the rose flesh. The younger man's tongue darted out of his mouth and his eyelids fluttered closed. He slowly moved his tongue over the sticky drops that covered his lips, licking away the thin layer of John's cum, the taste eliciting a soft moan from him.

 

A wicked glint in his eyes, Sherlock leaned forward until only his tiptoes remained on the floor and started to lick a stripe over the patches John had spread all over the wooden surface.

The blonde's eyes rested on Sherlock's backside, on his _arse_ and he watched every of his moves. Watched, as the younger man began to press his hips against the edge of the table, agonisingly slow grinding his cock against it. 

But suddenly fingers clenched around Sherlock's arsecheeks and John pressed his body against him, his cock hard underneath the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, you're incorrigible," John murmured and closed his fingers around Sherlock's dick. 

"But who would expect anything else?" he smirked and gave the younger man's cock a hard squeeze that made Sherlock moan affirmatively.


End file.
